


Venus in Versailles

by Umeko



Category: Chevalier: Le Chevalier D'Eon
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Domestic settings, F/M, Gossip, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Prostitution, Sexual Content, f/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An insight into the lives of 4 women, their relationships with their men and what it means to be a noblewoman in Versailles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna tries to make sense of what is expected of her in the bedroom as a wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna as a well-bred noblewoman has little to no sexual education. So she tries to find out from her peers and unreliable gossip.

D’Eon was speaking with a colleague as they walked along the corridor. Anna’s heart thumped as her beloved approached. Her eyes darted to the front of his breeches. Thankfully, he did not notice her glance when he paused to bid her good morning…

* * *

 

“You mean his penis will swell up and stand to attention like a soldier?” Anna’s mind tried to process the image her cousin’s words had conjured up. Her tongue stumbled over the word ‘penis’. Decent girls should not talk of such things. Nicole nodded. She had been wed for two years and it fell upon her shoulders to educate her favourite little cousin prior to the wedding. The entire process of lovemaking had come as a nasty shock to her on the wedding night when her husband unclothed himself and she saw _that._ Panicked, she had run for a doctor among the guests while the groom stood bewildered in the bedroom. The incident quite ruined the wedding night. They have gotten over all that now and she was expecting her first child. Lovemaking was a wifely duty expected of her and it will be expected of Anna when she married. 

“Yes, it will grow stiff and he will slide it between your thighs…” Nicole kept her tone neutral as if she were talking about the colour of the room curtains. “Into your womanhood…”

“Wouldn’t it hurt?” Anna asked curiously. 

“A little at first,” her cousin admitted. “But you love D’Eon, don’t you? And everything will be alright…” 

She ought to be relieved at her cousin’s revelations. All wives do that, allowing their husbands to stick their manhoods into that secret place between their thighs. That was how babies came about. Her muscles clenched at the notion of D’Eon impaling her upon his cock. 

* * *

 

Then came that nightmare. It was her wedding night and she was dressed in white like some virgin sacrifice. The room was forbiddingly dim and smelled musty. She waited on the bed apprehensively as D’Eon entered the room. 

“Dearest, I’ve come…” Anna shrieked at the sight as her husband undid his breeches. He was huge, like a stallion she had once seen in the pasture as a child. D’Eon was as lusty as a stallion too as he made his way over the bedspread to her, his cock stiff and pulsing. It was no longer the kind boy she knew since childhood but some leering ogre. He grabbed her roughly and she could feel it against her flesh. Anna panicked. 

It was so huge; there was no way it could fit inside her. The ogre grunted and shoved Anna into the mattress, yanking her thighs open and pressing it in. Anna screamed and woke in a cold sweat.

* * *

 

Nicole availed her of her fears the best she could in the morning. “He’s a man, Anna, not a horse. And he is no ogre. Why, de Beaumont would not even harm a fly! He’ll be gentle and kind to you, just as my Jean is to me.” 

Still Anna had to peek just to be sure. She could make out the tell-tale bulge where the breeches pulled tight but it was nowhere as big as a horse’s, to her relief. 

Anna heard other more lurid anecdotes of the bedroom from her fellow ladies-in-waiting, some of whom have already had such experiences. The discussions took place well away from Her Majesty’s earshot and the young Dauphin. Normally, she kept to herself and ignored the inane chatter. This time she listened. 

“Said he did not want it at first, but then I took him into my mouth and sucked until he was stiff. How he begged for it then,” Elisabeth laughingly related her latest conquest with relish. Anna knew her colleague was a bit of a coquette, but she could not help imagining herself doing that with D’Eon. She pictured pressing her face to his groin, taking D’Eon into her mouth and sucking him, making him want to copulate with her. How sinful! Anna was sure her face must be as red as… 

“He prefers taking me up the arse than my cunt…” an older woman confessed quietly to her friend. “Two children were quite enough for him and birthing them has stretched my cunt too much for his liking.” Anna quietly clenched her muscles. Oh dear, she would have to give birth to D’Eon’s children through that small hole.  If she grew loose from childbearing, would he continue to seek his pleasure with her? Surely taking up the arse must be unnatural and thus sinful. 

“Really, Dona Maria Gomez is such a slut. They say she did both the Marquis and his brother, at the same time… Took one in her cunt and the other in her mouth… Might have had their cousin up her arse, had he shown up for the dinner…” 

“They say the Baron’s daughter slept with an entire regiment of the Swiss Guards before they locked her in a convent. Happened at the costume ball… that Jezebel…” 

“The artist Grauber sleeps with his wife and her two sisters in the same bed!” someone said. “And now he wants to add in his maidservant… think the bed will break this time?” 

“The Empress of Russia has no husband, so she made do with her horse…” 

Anna was blushing furiously now and staring at the wig she had been preparing with powder and ribbons. 

“Ladies, don’t we have Her Majesty’s wardrobe to see to?” the Mistress of the Robes barked a harsh rebuke. The attendants hastened to complete their chores.

* * *

 

Anna sought out Lia afterwards, voicing her fears about the wedding. Lia was sitting in a gazebo, reading a book. She looked radiantly beautiful. 

“I love him, Lia but…” 

“My brother loves you too, Anna, even if he is not very expressive about it. He will never, ever hurt you,” Lia smiled and put her book away. 

“But the matters of the bedroom… I can’t possibly…” Anna blushed crimson at the thought of copulating with her husband-to-be. “I know it is a wife’s duty to lie with her husband but…” 

“Do you fear the act itself, the giving of a part of yourself or whether you will please him? Do you fear you cannot compare with the skills of the many courtesans so prevalent in Versailles? Listen, Anna. The act is a union of two souls in a sacred contract more binding than a church ceremony, if done sincerely. This is different from the rutting stallion and his mare or a man bedding a whore. In those instances, the act is simply a meeting of male and female parts. After the act, all is forgotten. The stallion seeks out another mare, the whore another customer. Between a man and a woman, it is different if they are in love. I know my brother. D’Eon loves you and he will be pleased with you no matter what. He will protect you from all harm, respect you and cherish you as his beloved wife. Even as you give yourself to him and swear to be with him always, he would have done the same for you in return… Trust me, Anna.” 

There was a wistful look in Lia’s eyes and Anna wondered if Lia had fallen in love. Apologizing profusely, Lia excused herself.

* * *

 

That night she dreamt again. This time the bed was covered with a sea of rose petals and the room was bright with the light of a dozen candles. Her beloved D’Eon was by her side, kissing and caressing her so gently. This was no ogre but her prince. He undid her ribbons and let her hair down, kissing and worshiping every tress. He held her gently as they sank onto the silken sheets as one. With a kiss, he swore to love and cherish her always. Anna awoke with tears of joy in her eyes. 

Anna was looking forward to the discovery of the pleasures of the wedding bed with D’Eon, and a new life together. That time would be coming soon. 


	2. Queen Marie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Majesty reflects upon her childhood, marriage and her son. In the 18th century, princesses as young as 14 were often married to spouses they have not met, often foreign princes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie always looks so serious and sad in the anime and she has good reason to.

Marie brushed a smudge of dirt from her son’s shoulder as she leaned in to see what he had written on his slate. Auguste was starting to learn how to add numbers. He was growing up so fast. She should not tarry in the schoolroom but leave Lia to teach him. It was not proper that a queen of France take too much interest in her offspring’s upbringing. Protocol decreed that the royal children of France be schooled by the court-appointed tutors, and raised by their nurses. With a few words of praise for both student and tutor, she headed back to her chambers with her ladies in tow.

Auguste was her little miracle, her gift from God. It was a crying shame that it was unlikely she would bear him a sibling. He was far too lonely with only his tutors and nurses for his companions. Louis has long abandoned her bed for the charms of his many mistresses.

Back home in Warsaw, she had been an only child, to her parents’ sorrow. Her father wanted an heir to inherit his kingdom, a crown prince. Many times she had watched her mother’s belly start to swell and many times it ended in tears and the dreaded flood of blood. She barely recalled how many children her parents had lost after her. The last miscarriage finally shattered her mother’s health, rendering her both sterile and bedridden. If Mama had died then, Papa would have been able to wed another queen to produce his sought-after son. Setting Mama aside was not allowed by the church, though he had often threatened to send her away to a convent.

It fell to young Marie to be her mother’s companion and comfort. She recalled the cool gazes her father gave them both when he did deign to call on them. Her father thought his daughter plain and her keenness for book-learning unbecoming. He found her piety tiresome and would carouse with his men while Marie and her mother prayed. Marie always believed him. She was an ugly, silly creature who would be lucky to catch the eye of any prince. 

Mama had cried when Papa announced her betrothal. They had no say in the matter. It was her duty as a princess to join her family to that of a king she did not know. She knew little of France and the glittery world he lived in. She had just become a woman the summer before and her mother begged them to allow her to stay a few years longer. Her father would not be persuaded. 

That was how she came, a bewildered girl, to Versailles. Within the first week, she was wedded to Louis. He was not much older than she but so much more worldly. He was gentle with her in the bedroom, easing her into her wifely duties. She fell in love with him from that first day. He had gained some girth since and he might have lost a bit of his hair, but he was still her handsome prince.

The honeymoon was a time of bliss. They made love every night and she often stayed within his bed till morning. He was so gentle and considerate of her needs. After the first year, his ardour seemed to be tamed. Protocol demanded separate rooms for the royal couple. He only summoned her or visited her bed every other night. She put it down to his work. By the third year of their union, it was clear that the passion they shared or she thought they shared had dimmed. When their paths did cross outside the bedroom, they were polite. 

Once a week, sometimes longer, he would come to her bed. There was no need for tender words or conversation now. She knew enough now on carrying out her wifely duties. When he came to her room and undid his breeches, she would simply lie back on the pillows with her thighs slightly apart. It would be a polite fumbling under the bedclothes on his part copulating with her. The passion had burned out and the act had become a chore to them both. She knew of the other women the king kept for his sensual pleasure. With his queen, it was only his duty to produce a heir which kept him returning to her bed. 

As the years flew past, her belly stayed flat. She tried prayers and powders but no luck. Their relations grew even chillier. When he did come to her bed now, it was often because his mistress had pleaded a headache. The mistresses were so many and so often changed she could not possibly kept track of all of them. She knew some was claimed to have borne the king bastard children and wondered if the cause of her childlessness was her barren womb. 

Louis never faulted her for the lack of an heir as her father did her mother. He was cool, if polite to her at official balls where they would sit upon their thrones as the courtiers revelled. Louis never danced with his queen, not since their wedding. He did attempt dancing with his mistresses though, and she allowed it by pleading a headache and retiring early. 

He was her husband and she should love him. Without him, she would be so lost in this alien land. She found meagre comfort in the Latin tomes in the palace library, and the Bible of course. Her Polish tongue was barbaric and not spoken here. Her attempts at learning French and the history of her adopted country amused him greatly. Her few ladies-in-waiting were supportive of their neglected queen but they would leave their posts to get married and start their own families.

Finally a miracle occurred. She conceived and bore a healthy dauphin. Louis ceased his nocturnal visitations. She found that she no longer yearned for them. They had done their part for the kingdom and produced an heir to succeed to the throne.

Louis would not be unkind to her. There was no talk of sending her away. He would treat her with respect as the mother of his son and heir. She could ask for jewels and fine dresses and he would gladly agree. She studied the gems in her jewellery box, many of which were gifts from him. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds and pearls… somehow, she felt only emptiness within her soul.

“Maman?” her son looked at her quizzically. He had slipped away from his nursemaids and followed her into her chambers. “Maman? Why are you crying?”

Marie hurriedly dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. She managed a weak smile. For her son’s sake, she must remain strong. He was such a gentle soul, much like his father.

“Nothing, my child. It was only a speck of dust.”

 

 


	3. Marquise de Pompadour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marquise de Pompadour has the heart of the king, or does she? The Marquise reflects on the men in her life and what it takes for her to survive.

He might be the king of France but in bed, he had as much grace as a callow schoolboy. She winced as her head bumped against the headboard. He was holding her hips too hard and she would have the bruises to prove it come morning. The bed creaked under his sweating bulk and she found it hard to breathe. Louis was a heavy man. At least the diamond necklace he gave her earlier made up for her current discomfit. Like all men, Louis only saw her as a pretty doll with breasts and a vagina for his sexual pleasure. She laughed as he buried his face in her breasts and spilled his seed into her. He was not the first. 

Jeanne had been thirteen when she had her first man. The courtship was pleasant. She enjoyed the little gifts of lace and flowers. The kisses which followed were nice too. What followed was not. The pain had scared her, as did the blood. He never came back for her like he promised as she lay there in the hay with her virtue gone. Her parents never guessed until her belly started to swell. 

Her first marriage was hastily arranged. An old doddering fool of a merchant was found and paid off with a generous dowry so that her child might be born within wedlock. The groom could not get it up in bed, despite all the powders and potions he tried. The babe was stillborn after a torturous birth. Jeanne swore she would not birth another. Her husband had grown children from his earlier wives and when he died within a year of their marriage, the law courts ruled in their favour and his young widow was cast out. 

The second husband was a soldier. She took a shine to him for his handsome looks and daring tales. He saw a pretty widow with riches to her name. He regretted the match once he learnt she had little more than clothes upon her back. He did enjoy using her body though, often roughly and with little consideration to her. He squandered what little remained of her dowry and inheritance before drowning in the Seine after a night’s drinking. Thankfully, there were no children to weigh her down. Judicious use of several herbal concoctions saw to that.

Jeanne had only her looks left and set up her business with a few women in similar circumstances. She had no other skills by which to earn her keep. They slept in the day and accompanied men at night. Gentlemen called upon them for their services, both in the parlour and the bed. Some were gentle and kind, others not so. There was never talk of marriage until the Marquis came. 

At first he was kind and gentle with her. A skilled lover, he taught her the pleasures of the flesh and she was ever the eager student. Enchanted with her beauty and wit, he took her away from the brothel. He set her up comfortably in apartments on his estate and kept her as his mistress. As always with the gentlemen who used her services, there was never any promise of marriage.

She knew she would not hold his interest for long. The Marquis had a roving eye and she would be cast off like last year’s fashions once he tired of her charms. She threw away her herbs and lay with him. She willed his seed take root within her. He was single still and the promise of an heir might convince him to wed. It did and her belly started to swell with his child. The Marquis was surprised and shocked by the turn of events. With tears in her eyes, she pleaded with him not to let his son be fatherless. Her pleas and tears finally convinced him and the wedding was held.

Within the month, she gave birth to her second child, a healthy daughter. Her third husband greeted the news coolly. A girl was useless to him.

They had lain together many times afterwards but her belly did swell. The couple soon drifted apart. The Marquis accused her of being barren and turned both cruel and cold. He would abuse her soundly when the mood took him and ignore her completely when it did not. There were other mistresses who later bore him sons but he was now chained by law and church to Jeanne. He hated his wife for it. Jeanne turned her attention to other men in her loneliness. The Marquise de Pompadour was still beautiful, even after the trials of her unhappy marriage. Her blond hair and tiny waist was the toast of any ball she attended and her bright blue eyes melted the hearts of many men.

Then she caught the eye of His Majesty. She noticed the way he looked at her at the New Year’s Ball where all the nobles were in attendance. She had learned the little tricks from her days at the brothel and used them mercilessly to keep his attention. Louis was smitten with her. By spring, her husband had been all but exiled from Versailles, whereas his wife and daughter had been given luxurious rooms in the palace by the king. His Majesty admired her wit and charm. He called her his little bird who was so dainty. In bed, he was so relentless that she feared she might be quite worn out.

 _The heart of the man who ruled France. The power to change France as she so desired_. She would not settle for anything less. A man afire with lust for a woman was easily manipulated. True, there was a foreign-born queen, but he hardly noticed her. There was also a young dauphin but he was a pale little thing. The Marquise wanted to bear His Majesty a son and strengthen her hold over him but his seed did not take within her womb.

“Maman?” Her young daughter was a nuisance, calling on her at the most inopportune times. When Louis saw the little girl, he would excuse himself and leave her to see to her child. Belle had become a millstone round her neck, an obstacle to her ambitions. When her little girl died, she did not feel any grief as a mother ought to.

Louis was inconstant in his affections. There were many willing women in Versailles for him to pick from, maids and matrons alike. Some claimed he sought reconciliation with the mother of his son. For now, he still continued to rut with her like a stallion with his mare and she was glad for it.

There was still a chance she would retain his affections and her power over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have blended the persons of 2 of Louis XV's mistresses (Pompadour and du Barry), in addition to the anime's version of the Marquise.


	4. Lia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lia has always been a strong woman. Why is it so hard to hide her weakness when it comes to Maximilien

“Heaven did both you and France a disservice, letting you be born a woman.” 

“If I were born a man, would you be lying with me thus?”

“Maybe,” Maximilien smiled mischievously. “If you are as fair…”

“Flatterer.”

Lia straddled his hips, sinking down completely on his erect cock. She started bouncing and moaning. Maximilien laughed and grabbed her hips to steady her. She had divested herself of her bulky skirts and corset. Naked as Eve, she rutted with him upon the grass in the bright sunshine. The lovers were careful to choose a part of the vast gardens not often frequented by the courtiers or guards but there was still the risk of discovery. Afterwards, they would lie on the warm grass basking in the glorious afterglow of their union and finishing their picnic.

Both Durand and Maximilien would not openly admit it but the driving force behind their trio in the Secret d’Roi was Lia de Beaumont. She had the wit and skill of any military tactician and was a gifted swordswoman. She was fiercely loyal to her country and tremendously brave. It was always Lia who was given the hardest missions, including that delicate diplomatic visit to Russia. And she rarely, if ever, disappointed. Lia bucked all social expectations and broke social boundaries to get where she was.

Proper girls did not pester their brother’s fencing instructors to take them on as students. They sit quietly beside their mamans learning needlework. Proper ladies did not gallop about Europe in the company of men without a chaperon. They sit at home and wait for their parents to get them a husband. Proper ladies did not don men’s clothes and snoop about Parisian taverns for potential threats to the king. They wear the latest fashions in gowns and lounge about waiting to be courted. Lia was never a proper noblewoman.

Lia was always strong-willed, even as a child. She could act the coquette and the social butterfly at balls if it suited her purposes. She was a beauty, albeit not in the traditional sense. She was no swooning damsel or helpless maid. She was a confident young lady and that spirit drew Maximilien in like a moth to a flame.

Sometimes he feared he would be burnt by her fire.  Now he watched as she dressed. He moved over to assist her with the laces of her corset. Men’s clothes were so much easier to don and he could understand why she preferred travelling as a man. Fully-dressed now, they finished the remainder of their picnic. Their respective duties called and it was getting late. It was getting harder for them to meet up for their trysts.

“Max?”

“Yes, Lia?” He kissed her cheek tenderly.

“Please be careful.”

“I will, Lia.” Without a backwards glance, he was on his way. Lia felt a strange twisting in her gut as she watched him go. Her womanhood was still slick with his seed. She had insisted he come inside her today instead of withdrawing like he normally did. She trusted him and his love but still that nagging unease persisted. She felt that she was seeing him leave for the very last time. She hated it. True, their work in His Majesty’s service was fraught with dangers but…

She was still a woman and she feared losing him. She feared he would laugh at her unbecoming fears. She was Lia de Beaumont, their iron lily. She had fought alongside Max against enemies with sword in hand and saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion. They had lain together as man and woman less often than they had shared a blanket as comrades-in-arms.

* * *

 

“What do mean he is missing?” Lia all but screamed. Her nails carved deep gouges into her palms. 

“He vanished en route to Russia- that is what the Duc d’Broglie told me…” Durand ventured. He looked flustered and Lia did not blame him. Rarely had she raised her voice in temper. He moved towards her with arms outstretched, offering her the comfort of his broad shoulders.

“Leave me now,” she said. He paused in mid-step and obeyed her demand. She listened to his footsteps fading away in the hallway. She needed to be alone with her grief and loss. She did not trust herself to weep before another, even Durand. _Her Max, her beloved- gone!_ Her heart ached and the tears came. She sobbed into her hands and hated herself for her weakness.

Had she been a typical woman, she would have gladly accepted Durand’s offer of a strong shoulder to cry upon. Durand was a good man, despite his reputation as a ladies’ man. He would not take advantage of her grief. No, it was her desire to keep that iron façade up. Her little brother stood in awe of her. Her colleagues respected her strength. She was their equal, a fellow spy in service of their country. She would not, could not act as a weak woman. It reeked too much of betrayal of all she had fought so hard for.

She felt numb. It was a waking nightmare. Durand had snooped and pried out some news as to her beloved’s whereabouts. After Durand saw him off at the docks, Maximilien Robespierre had disembarked in Hamburg. The trail went cold from thereon. He had uncovered more unsettling news- men were sent to Hamburg to await Max’s arrival and he doubted their intentions were friendly. Their plans were foiled when Max did not show at the embassy as expected. Whispers claimed Maximilien Robespierre had turned traitor. Secret papers had been stolen from the king’s chambers. That loyal knight of France, her beloved…

* * *

 

Lia curled upon her bed in her misery and sobbed into her pillow. He had lain with her here once or twice, when her brother was away and Max could not be troubled to return to his own rooms in town. She turned her face to the linens and inhaled. She hoped to catch some lingering scent of his but it was hopeless. The maid had laundered the sheets since he last called. She could not sleep, could not eat. Even her little brother, often oblivious to his surroundings, had noticed her gloom and sought to cheer her up by volunteering to spar with her.

The fencing match went poorly, with D’Eon dodging her erratic thrusts and slashes. He had tripped and sprained his ankle. D’Eon was no warrior knight like her or her fellow knights. He was a scholar and handled his sword with practised finesse born of practice rather than the deadly experience of battle. She had not held back at all. She was disgusted with herself for taking out her frustrations on poor D’Eon. Her good friend Anna sent flowers and books, thinking she was feeling poorly. She could not share her fears and her secret with them.  

Durand came once before he was sent off to Marseilles on a solo mission. They spoke of their missing comrade. Durand also refused to believe Maximilien’s guilt.

The letter came next, an order from His Majesty. Lia de Beaumont was to hunt down Maximilien Robespierre and retrieve the stolen papers. If necessary, his life was forfeit. She could not disobey a royal order. Within the week, she must pick up the chase before the trail grew too cold.

“Max?” she blinked and sat up. She thought she caught a glimpse of his pale face in the rain-lashed window of her room, but it must be a trick of the light. Her window was a good twelve feet high. She wiped her tears. The mirage was gone. She wept bitterly into her pillow. Her beloved had abandoned not only France but her.

The doors and windows of the de Beaumont manor were no obstacle to a trained professional of the Secret du Roi. It was his face reflected in the window glass which had caught her eye. Maximilien hovered beside her bed, reaching out a hand to touch her but not daring to. He had never seen her weep thus in all the time they were together. He had seen the orders, carelessly left on the dresser when he came into the room. Regretfully, he reflected that he had stepped too far and there was no turning back for him. 


End file.
